Jo Ann Brown (4 page)

She wished she could let her guard down, too, because Mr. Bradby, aside from his unconsidered words upstairs, was both endearing and skilled with gaggery. However, the very idea of unbending when Cousin Edmund sat on one side of her and Lord Northbridge on the other was unfathomable.

Instead she watched the interaction between the three men. Even though the earl did not speak as often as the others, each time he did, the other two were quick to defer to his sentiments. It was clear they held him in the highest esteem. At the same time, Lord Northbridge was enjoying their company. When Cousin Edmund mentioned something about the war, the earl glanced at her sister and said, “Herriott, the ladies.”

His words confirmed Sophia’s suspicions that the three men had fought together against Napoleon. That would explain both the earl’s scar and his friends’ respect. She could easily picture Lord Northbridge giving calm orders in the midst of gunfire. Had he honed his ability to control his emotions under such stress?

When the last course, a sweet and light meringue, was crumbs on their plates, Sophia said, “Please allow us to withdraw so you gentlemen may enjoy your port.” She started to push back her chair to rise.

The men surged to their feet, and both Lord Northbridge and her cousin reached to help draw out her chair. The earl pulled back his hand as if the wood had suddenly burst into flame. He bowed his head slightly to her cousin who assisted her to stand, and her cousin’s eyes narrowed.

Confused, Sophia wondered what unspoken message had passed between them. She thanked her cousin, then turned to leave the table. A firm chest covered by an embroidered waistcoat halted her. Oh, bother, she should have gone in the other direction, but Cousin Edmund had been standing too close on that side.

She raised her eyes to Lord Northbridge’s, and her breath caught over her heart, which seemed to have forgotten how to beat. His eyes were no longer hooded, and she saw the powerful emotions warring within them. She should look away, but she was held by the shadows of sorrow in his eyes. He must continue to grieve for his wife, even after more than three years. Many questions begged to be asked. Many words of comfort she wanted to offer, to speak of how deeply she understood his loss.

But she was unable to speak because she could not breathe. If she drew in another breath, his powerful essence would come with it. They could not have stood unmoving for more than a moment; yet it seemed like one life she had known had ended and a new one had started. A life in which he played a role. Which role she did not dare to guess, but that brief second of connection eased the icy cocoon that had surrounded her heart for longer than she wanted to admit.

Sophia stepped away. She had to fight her feet, which wanted to take her back to Lord Northbridge. Instead she walked slowly to where her sister waited at the end of the table. Together they left the room. She saw curiosity on her sister’s face, but how could Sophia explain that she was captivated by the good friend of the man she was expected to marry?

* * *

“When I saw the vicar in the foyer, I thought I was done for, about to be caught in the parson’s mousetrap.” Herriott shuddered as he grimaced.

“Did you really believe that Fenwick was here because Miss Meriweather intended to force you into popping the question the very first night you arrive?” Bradby put down his glass and folded his arms on the table and chuckled. “Stop acting like a scared rabbit, and put yourself in the lady’s place. She knows nothing of you, save that you are a distant relative.”

“Listen to him, Herriott,” Charles said, stretching out his legs beneath the table. “Why would she command you to make an offer? From what I have seen of Miss Meriweather, she would never do something skimble-skamble.”

Herriott leaned forward. “What do
you
think of her?”

Bradby cleared his throat and shifted uneasily, a sure sign that Charles must not hesitate on his answer. He would not lie, but how could he say that Herriott’s future wife invaded too many of his thoughts? He had never met a woman who exhibited a grace that suggested she moved to music the rest of them could not hear.

“It matters less what I think of her than what you do,” Charles replied, hoping Herriott did not see his answer as an evasion.

Across the table, Bradby smiled tautly. Charles had given him the rough side of his tongue after Miss Meriweather had fled, and Bradby had taken the dressing-down he was due.

“You are no longer in garrison,” Charles had snapped. “You are in the company of ladies, not soldiers. You can no longer speak churlishly and expect nothing to come of it.”

Bradby had apologized, then made a joke, as he did whenever he was under stress. Had he always done that? Charles could not recall, but he seemed to be jesting more and more of late.

Just as Herriott seemed unable to make a decision of any sort. As the baron of this estate he would be forced to do so, but, for now, his indecision might be a boon for both Herriott and Miss Meriweather.

“I know what is expected of us,” Herriott said, breaking into Charles’s thoughts, “but I would like to become better acquainted with my cousin before I ask her to be my wife.”

“I am sure she shares your opinion.”

As Bradby chuckled, looking relieved, Herriott reached out to clap Charles on the shoulder. “I am glad you two agreed to come here with me. I should have guessed I would be in need of your counsel at some point. Promise me one thing. If Miss Meriweather—or anyone—mentions the words
banns
or
wedding,
you will change the subject immediately.”

Charles laughed. “As I said, I don’t think you need worry.”

“Better forearmed than unprepared, as you said often enough before we faced the French.”

“Fortunately tonight, the only enemy we face is your baseless apprehension.”

This time Herriott laughed along with them.

An hour later, Charles stood and bid his friends a good night. Before the war, he had enjoyed sitting for much longer after dinner, conversing with friends. An odd restlessness had taken over since his return to England. Should he check on the children? There was no need, because Mrs. Smith, a matronly woman and the wife of the head groom, had been sent by Lady Meriweather to sit with the children.

If the weather was not foul, he would walk off his agitation outside. Maybe something to read. Mr. Fenwick’s unfinished story about Sanctuary Bay had been intriguing. The late Lord Meriweather might have a book on the subject.

A quick question to a footman obtained him directions to the lord’s book-room. It was on the first floor, but down a corridor he had not noticed previously. The light from the lamps on the walls was enough so he could avoid bumping into a quartet of suits of armor in the hallway. On the morrow, he would bring Michael and Gemma to see the armor. He guessed they would find it fascinating. Or would it frighten them?

Sophia would know
.

He stopped as if the thought had been a brick wall in the center of the hall. When had he started thinking of her as
Sophia?
His mouth tightened. No matter how he thought of her, he was not ready to own to
Miss Meriweather
or anyone else that he was unsure how to rear his children.

Charles continued along the dusky corridor and paused in an open doorway where light spilled out into the hall. The dark shelves of the book-room were packed with more volumes than could fit. More were piled on the floor, on the window seat, on any flat surface.

“Come in,” said Sophia as if she had emerged from his thoughts. Now that was a most discomforting idea. She stood at a rosewood desk set in front of a double window.

“Now it is my turn to say I hope I am not intruding,” he said, wondering if he would be wise to retreat. To be alone with her, far from everyone else in the house, might be stupid. He turned to leave. “I can return another time.”

“Of course not. You are not intruding.”

“It would appear I am.”

“Are you suggesting that I am being less than honest with you, Lord Northbridge?” A smile curved along her lips before rising to twinkle in her eyes.

“I would never suggest anything except that you are being too polite to tell me to take my
congé.
I should have guessed that you had sought a quiet haven here.”

She gestured to the open books on the desk. “I was doing a quick review of the estate’s accounts, so I can go through them with Cousin Edmund whenever he wishes. I am glad to say I am done and was about to douse the lamp.”

“You have many tasks within these walls, don’t you?” He entered the room, but kept a pair of upholstered wing chairs between them.

“Soon they shall be Cousin Edmund’s.” Her teasing smile would have been perfectly at home on Gemma’s face. “I will have more time to do things I enjoy.”

“And what are those things?”

She ran her fingers along a shelf of books. “Reading and maybe some traveling.” Her eyes grew distant. “I have longed to see the amazing cities on the Continent.”

Charles’s mouth twisted. “I have no wish to return there.”

“I have also thought about visiting America.”

“I have traveled as much as I wish. I came here as a favor to your cousin. I look forward to spending the rest of my life tending to my estate while I watch my children grow up.”

Her expression suggested she was as shocked as if he had suddenly announced rain was falling up. Her fingers tightened on the shelf, but he was unsure which of his comments had upset her. Reminding himself that he had come to the book-room solely to get something to read, he cautioned himself not to question too closely her reaction to anything he said or did.

Or his reaction to her.

He could not pull his eyes from her half profile as she gazed at the bookshelf. He had been wrong to call her remarkable. Magnificent was a better word.

“Read any book you would like,” Sophia said.

“Thank you.” The two words gave him time to escape his enticing thoughts of dancing with her to the sumptuous notes of a waltz, but the fantasy returned as he watched her weave through the stacks of books with the ease of practice.

She stopped by a section of shelves at the rear of the room. “This is where Papa kept his favorite books. He loved historical treatises and overly melodramatic novels.” She turned to face him, her expression once again that of a gracious hostess. “If either interests you, you will find them here.”

“Is there a history of Sanctuary Bay on that shelf?”

Sophia shook her head as she went to the desk and sat. “There is no such book, as my father lamented far too often. He always spoke of writing a history of the bay, but he never did.”

He rested his arms on the back of the wing chair. “Mr. Fenwick mentioned that the late baron had been doing some research in that direction and that you had further information.”

Her stiff pose softened. “Papa and I spent many evenings trying to trace the bay’s name to its origins. It was quite fascinating to discover that the bay might have been a sanctuary for miscreants.”

“Ah, now that is far more intriguing.” His smile broadened. “What sort of criminals sought a hiding place among the cliffs long ago?”

“Pirates.”

“Definitely more interesting.” Coming around the chair, he sat in it, pulling it closer to her. “Tell me more.”

She did, warming to the story she and her father had pieced together out of legend and dusty tomes. Charles listened intently while she explained how, several centuries before, the English pirates had preyed on trade ships going to and from the Low Countries and north toward Germany and Norway.

“They could very easily slip in and out of the bay, which has deep water,” she said, her hands moving as if they were ships on the sea. “Once they reached their target, they were swifter and with nothing to lose, so they often convinced the captains to hand over their cargo without a single shot fired.”

“And hied to Sanctuary Bay. But that cannot be the end of the tale. The ships’ captains must have set chase.” He wanted to keep her telling the story, because he was fascinated by how her expression emphasized each facet of it. Without the grief that too often shadowed her face, she was even more beguiling.

He started to reach out his hand to put it over hers. He drew it back quickly. Hadn’t Bradby’s interruption this afternoon taught him anything? He could not risk her reputation by giving in to the yearning to touch her.

“The ships did come to Sanctuary Bay, but the crews never found any signs of their stolen cargos in the village.”

“Tell me, where in this house did they hide their loot?”

“There is supposedly a deep cellar, more like a cave actually, beneath, but we have never found any sign of it.” Her laugh caressed him like a spring breeze. “How did you guess? Nobody outside the village ever knew of it.”

“Mr. Fenwick’s reluctance to speak of your father’s theory was a good clue.”

“There are rumors that my ancestors played a large part in the crimes.”

“That did not disturb your father?”

“Quite to the contrary. He thought it great fun to have pirates in our family line, but he was also glad that we live in a far more civilized time.”

Charles sighed deeply. “I would not say we are more civilized. We simply prey on each other in different ways now.”

“I read the dispatches in the newspaper about the battles against the French,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I cannot imagine how much more horrendous it must have been on the battlefield.”

“No, you cannot. Not unless you were there.”

“I would be glad to listen if you wish to speak of it. Mr. Fenwick has often reminded us that a problem shared is a lessened burden.”

He recoiled, shocked by her words. “Why would I wish to relive that?”

“I have no idea, but—”

“Miss Meriweather, I do not wish to speak it.” He clenched his teeth as he felt the all-too-familiar surge of heated anger rising from his gut. He struggled to dampen it, but his temper seemed to have a will of its own, wanting to lash out in every direction.

Sophia stared at him in shock. The so-very-brief connection between them was now completely broken. He told himself that it was for the best. She should be getting better acquainted with her cousin, not with him. That thought stabbed him. What did it matter? If she knew the truth about him, she would run in the opposite direction.